


Even Angels Fall

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Chess, F/M, Not Fluff, Sex, cohabiting with evil, slightly dubcon in places maybe, twissy, well not the usual kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, sooner or later one of us is going to kill the other, if only to alleviate the boredom.”</p>
<p>The Doctor and Missy, living together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Angels Fall

The sex is good.

No, that's a lie. It's incredible. Missy is inventive and imaginative, you are eager and (you hope) generous. You spend hours wrapped around each other, exploring new bodies and playing old games. After a while the guilt becomes an extra kink, another wonderful pain that she lovingly inflicts. 

It's not just physical. Even locked from all but the surface of her mind (so many plans, all kept as surprises) you experience a completeness that can never be described to those species who are deaf to telepathy. There was a hole in your head and she has filled it. You feel a balance that you thought was lost centuries ago.

This is not an excuse.

None of your friends would approve, even the ones she hasn't tortured in some way. (She says she can't remember how many times she killed Captain Jack, and you're not sure if you believe her.) They can't begin to understand what Missy means to you, what you mean to her. They weren't there for Gallifrey, Earth, Logopolis, the Cheetah Planet, and certainly they weren't around for all of them. 

That year on the Valiant, while Martha walked the Earth below, you were... not happy, but not lonely either. It's a terrible thing to admit, given all that the Master did in that year that didn't quite happen. The people you love would be appalled, and worst of all you don't entirely care.

This is not quite condemnation.

Missy is at least distracted and essentially imprisoned. She behaves well for the most part, bar the odd poisoning while she was getting used to her new life. It keeps her from other, more violent, pursuits. It might help her to change.

That's a lie as well.

 

One morning you wake to find that she's cuffed you to the bed. She is sitting peacefully between your legs, quite naked, eyes closed and humming an aria. 

“Is this supposed to be funny?” 

Her eyes open and she smiles. “Good, you're awake. I was getting quite bored on my own.” She reaches forwards, draws a line down your cock with her fingernails. “I didn't want to start without you,” she says, her closing her hand into a loose fist and stroking firmly.

“Missy,” you say, as calmly as possible, “there's such a thing as informed consent.”

“Is there?”

“Yes, so if you could take these handcuffs off me we could have a chat about that.”

She grins. “Later.” She crawls up the bed, holding herself above you and planting a light kiss between your hearts. 

River, for all that she might play with handcuffs and candle-wax, lacked sadism. Your “pet reformed psychopath” (to use Missy's words) did not get off on cruelty. Neither do you, under most circumstances, but these are not most circumstances. 

By the end of her game your arms ache and there are bloodstains on the sheets. When she finally frees you there's a genuine affection in her eyes, and you can't help but smile.

 

The TARDIS resents her presence, and gives you the occasional mental nudge to indicate displeasure. Spending so much time in the vortex isn't good for her engines either, but real space-time would be too tempting, and it's not like you can take Missy out for dinner and a play. 

Clara phones you almost every day, and it's only recently started to become annoying. The same well-rehearsed answers each time – _I'm fine, Missy is fine, everyone is fine_ \- are beginning to grate. 

Missy walks into the control room as you once more try to reassure Clara that, yes, everything is fine. Missy rolls her eyes and mouths a few insulting words about humanity in general. You shrug, listen as your best friend lists her worries, flick a few switches idly.

Then somehow – the logistics are hazy – Missy is sitting on the edge of the console and you're standing between her legs, one hand resting on a bare knee.

“I have to go,” you say into the phone. Missy shakes her head and smiles, her hands unbuttoning your shirt. 

“Is something wrong?” asks Clara, alerted by the words or maybe by the change in your breathing.

“No, I just... the kettle's just boiled,” you lie as Missy starts to unfasten your trousers. You move your hands to stop her, shaking your head and silently telling her to _wait_. 

“Doctor, you're the worst liar ever,” says Clara. 

Missy makes a grab for the phone and you twist away to keep it from her. “I'll call you back,” you say, and hang up abruptly. 

Missy pouts and hops down from the console. “You're not fun at all,” she says, turning to leave.

“Sorry to be such a disappointment,” you tell her retreating figure.

 

“Your move.”

Missy looks up from the book she's reading and examines the chessboard. “You know, sooner or later one of us is going to kill the other, if only to alleviate the boredom.” She moves a pawn into a dangerous position and turns her attention back to the book.

“You enjoy my company too much.” You smile and take the pawn.

Missy moves her queen without glancing up from her book. “Checkmate.”

“What?” You look at the positions of the remaining pieces and she's right, you walked straight into her trap. With a sigh you clear the board. “Another game?”

She turns a page. “If you really feel the need.”

“What are you reading? Is it any good?”

“A romantic novel,” she says to your surprise. “It lacks a certain verisimilitude.”

“Ah, nobody's tried to murder the person they love yet?” You set up the chess pieces. “Normal people don't do that. That's a thing only evil people tend to enjoy.”

“Evil is such a strong word.” She sets the book down beside the chessboard. “One more game,” she says, “and then we find something interesting to do.” She runs her foot up from your ankle to your knee, which is about as subtle as she gets. 

You jump a knight over a pawn. “Whatever you say, dear.”

She smiles at that, and then she smiles more at the blush that comes when you realise what you said.

“I didn't mean -”

“Yes, you did. Your move.”

“No, it's your turn now.”

Missy shrugs. “I changed the rules.” She moves her foot up until it presses against your groin.

“Missy -”

“Your. Move.” She flexes her foot.

You stare at her until you have to blink first.

Then you move.


End file.
